


An Exercise in Control

by brucebannerisms



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Light BDSM, Mildly Dubious Consent, Riding Crop, Smut, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucebannerisms/pseuds/brucebannerisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a riding crop. Sherlock's riding crop, to be specific.</p><p>In which Molly Hooper hires Irene Adler to teach her something about control.</p><p>[NOTE: This will be the beginning of a Reichenbach SL where Irene and Molly are both involved in Sherlock surviving the fall.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Losing Control

It started with a riding crop. Sherlock's riding crop, to be specific. Seeing him standing there, riding crop in hand, it wouldn't be the first time Molly Hooper was speechless in the presence of Sherlock Holmes. Everyone who knows Molly knows that Molly has fancied Sherlock since the day he walked into St. Bart's and demanded to be taken to the morgue. Scratch that, everybody except Sherlock Holmes knows. 

She'll soon change that, Molly thinks determinedly. Getting Sherlock's attention was her only reason for hiring a dominatrix. Yes, definitely the only reason. That, and the riding crop. Because when she saw Sherlock standing there, riding crop in hand, looking all cool and in control, Molly wanted Sherlock more than she had ever wanted him before. But she wanted to be the one with riding crop in hand. She wanted to be the one in control. 

She hired the dominatrix with the hope that she might teach her a thing or two about being in control. 

Today was the day they had arranged, 8pm, Molly's flat. With no clue how to prepare to invite a dominatrix into one's home, Molly cleaned the place top to bottom, dressed herself in the sexiest clothes in her closet (Think frilly, pink, girlish. But it was the best she could come up with, and she was too embarrassed to go a sex shop and buy something more outlandish) and tried to look casual and not feel at all stupid in this lacy lingerie on her own sofa. She was just playing with the tassels coming down from her nipples, frowning really, and wondering what on earth their purpose was, when she heard a knock on the door.

Being the over-analyst she is, she couldn't help but notice that the knock was firm and quick but not quick enough as to suggest nervousness. It sounded, confident. She shakes her head to brush away all stupid thoughts of confident knocks on the door and skips over to answer it. On her way to the door she grabs a white bathrobe, second guessing her attire. Surely there is some sort of convention of casual conversation before getting down to it, as it were, that Molly didn't know about. Now she'll look a proper fool all ready to go when they're going to sit and have tea. She pauses at the door, wondering if she should quickly go and change into jeans and a t-shirt and maybe put the kettle on. But then there comes another knock at the door, louder this time and more persistent. Molly bites her lip, exhales heavily, pastes a smile on her face and opens the door.

"Hello," she says in her perkiest voice, "you must be --"

A woman pushes past her and stalks into her flat carrying a large black canvas bag. Molly closes the door quickly and turns to gaze open mouthed at her guest. She drops the bag on the floor with a clunk and turns to glare at Molly. Molly crosses her arms over her chest, abashed.

"Your Mistress must never wait more than a few seconds for you to answer the door. Your Mistress has better things to do than stand in the corridor and wait for the likes of you."

She puts her hands on her hips and glares harder. So much for casual conversation on the sofa.

The woman is clad in a black body forming dress with black elbow-length gloves and 4-inch stilettos. The whole outfit gleams like patent leather. Her hair is tied back in a slick bun. She wears dark liner that curves out from her eyes in a sinister way and lipstick the color of blood. And Molly can't help but notice that she is absolutely stunning.

It occurs to Molly that she has no idea what she has gotten herself into. She pulls her robe closer to her and bites her lip again, wondering what to do next.

The woman takes a few slow steps towards Molly, her heels clicking against the floor, her ass swaying in just the right way that every woman aims for, but of course Molly doesn't notice that. She stands, frozen in place, feeling and probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights. The woman stops in front of her, close enough to be invading her personal space, and fiercely stares Molly in the eyes. Molly drops her hands to her side, straightens, and stares right back. I can do this, she thinks.

"From here on out, you refer to me only as Mistress," The woman says. "I was told that you gave no scenarios to start out with or any ideas of what you would desire from your Mistress." Her voice softened to a dangerous purr as she looked Molly up and down, from the petrified but polite look on her face to the pink slippers on her feet. "You're practically a virgin. I know just what to do with you. I will make you scream, girl, and by the end of the night you will belong to nobody else but me."

My Mistress unfastened my bathrobe and slid it down of my shoulders, letting it fall at a puddle at my feet. She stepped one foot back to look at my bra and panties and something that could have been a smile played across her face. I could feel my face burning, I felt so childish in my pink frills and lace. Just as quickly the half smile turned into a devilish grin and she stepped back towards me. She grabs the tassels in her hand and pulls me closer to her. She whispers in my ear.

"Next time you'll greet your Mistress at the door with just tassels, no bra. Your Mistress likes the tassels, she does, but with more skin and the colour black would suit us both better." Her hand moves down to the lace fringe on my panties and my breath hitches.  
"The safe word to slow things down is yellow, the safe word to end the scene is red. Ready or not, here we go, princess."


	2. It Started with a Riding Crop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all smut. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Molly gets distracted and forgets her purpose for hiring Irene.  
> She enjoys herself much more than she thought possible.

"There was one request I made..." Molly mutters, "an item..."

Her mistress stares at her for a second, a look on her face that almost looks amused, surprised even. The wicked grin spreads across her face again.

"Ah, yes, your mistress remembers. A riding crop. Quickly now, skip across the room and fetch it for us. In my bag, yes."

Falling into character, Molly slips over to the bag and gets down on her knees to search for the riding crop. Might as well do this right, Molly thinks to herself. Meanwhile her blood is already pumping and she feels a bit hot.

She finally fishes out what she's looking for and crawls across the carpet of her living room floor and presents the riding crop to her mistress. She didn't miss the look on Irene Adler's face as she admired the view of Molly from behind, but she doesn't allow even a hint of a smirk to cross her face in her obedience. 

Irene skips a beat before smiling and saying "good pet. Now stand." She cracks the riding crop against Molly's sofa and Molly gets to her feet, trying to be as smooth possible. She stands contentedly in front of her mistress, rim rod straight. Irene smiles again and takes a step back, but not without moving the tassels with her hands. Molly's heart beats faster.

"These tassels and all these frills and lace are really quite charming after all," her mistress muses. "Nevertheless, I want them off. The bra first, your mistress wants a show of it. Let's see if your breasts are as perky as the rest of you."

Molly hesitates, nervous again. Irene steps back towards her again as she reaches back to undo the clasps. 

"On second thought," Irene purrs in Molly's ear, sliding her arms around Molly's waste and moving Molly's own hands away. "Your mistress would like to undress her pet herself." Molly shivers.

Her mistress pinches a little while undoing the clasps, and slides the bra over Molly's shoulders and down her arms. As she does this her hands move to cup each boob, pushing them together. She holds them like this for a second, her breath still in Molly's ear, then she moves back again to look Molly up and down. Molly's breasts, C cups, are round and nearly as perky as the rest of her, with small nipples that are already hard from Irene's proximity and contact. 

"Just as Mistress likes them," Irene purrs, and takes them in her hand again, this time with two fingers rubbing each nipple. Molly's breathing speeds up but she resists the urge to move against Irene and stands still for her mistress. Then Irene twists each nipple hard but not hard enough to cause a lot of pain, but Molly gasps nonetheless, though she still remains in place. She stops twisting and rubs the nipples again, which are now harder than they were before.

"Now," says Irene, picking up the riding crop she had leaned against the couch, "my pet needs to be punished. Turn around. Now!" Molly quickly turns around. "Bend over." Molly bends at the waist, looking back at her mistress to make sure she is following orders correctly. Her mistress seems pleased as she uses one hand to play with the frills on her pink panties. "This is all wrong. Mistress wants her pet in all black but her pet is wearing pink. Very naughty." Without warning her mistress cracks the whip against Molly's bottom hard enough to sting. Molly cries out. Her mistress hits her again, a little bit harder this time, and shouts sternly, still in character, "Yellow or Green?"

"Green" Molly practically moans. The crop cracks again, harder, against her butt. Then her mistress is purring in her ear again. "Does my pet like being punished?" Irene reaches her arms around and leans so her body, the cold fabric of her dress, her breasts, are pressed against Molly's back, though she is still bent a bit from the spanking. Her mistress cups her breasts again, feels her hard nipples and gives them another little twist. Molly's breathing is quite ragged now. Her mistress takes the full weight of her boobs in her hands and then slides her hands down her stomach, placing both hands on Molly's hips, sliding them towards her inner thighs. "How much does my pet like it?" Her mistress moves one hand down in between her legs, pushing against the material of her panties against her vagina. She can feel the wetness that has seeped through her panties. "My pet likes it very much, I see," her mistress says. She lets her fingers rest against Molly's clit, feels it throbbing, begging to be stimulated.

"That will not do," Irene suddenly says, pushing herself away from Molly, causing her to stumble and fall forward onto the carpet. "Stand up this instant. My pet must be punished. Turn around and face me. Now take off those panties, they're all wrong, take them off right now. Slowly now." 

This time Molly doesn't hesitate. She slides her panties down over her hips and lets them fall to the floor. She steps out of them and stands boldly in front of her Mistress, who can't hide the enjoyment on her face. For a minute they just stand in place, while her Mistress takes in her body, admires her from top to bottom, objectifies her. 

Irene walks over to Molly and forces her into a bent over position again, she runs her hand between Molly's legs without entering her, and then smacks her hard, backhand, on her butt. Molly jumps in surprise at the strength behind it but quickly moves back into place. "How does my pet like that! Green or Yellow?"

"Green!" Molly gasps. Her Mistress smacks her bare bottom with her hand again, harder this time. Then she switches the riding crop to her good hand. With a crack Molly is sure could be heard by the next doors her Mistress hits the crop against her bottom so hard Molly is sure she won't sit properly for weeks. She closes her eyes and revels in the feeling. "Green," she says again without being asked. Her Mistress hits harder.

Suddenly Molly finds herself seated on the arm of her sofa. Her Mistress is standing over her, leaning closer and closer, forcing Molly backwards until her head hits the wall and she leans there. Her Mistress moves against her, the cold fabric of her dress against Molly's boobs, against the wetness between her thighs. Her Mistress moves so they are face to face, her lips parted slightly, staring into Molly's eyes which are slightly glazed over in a daze. Her Mistress leans in to kiss her but only bites her bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. Then she moves down to Molly's breasts.

"These tits need punishment as well," her Mistress tells her, "they're too perky." Irene takes one of Molly's tits in her mouth, her tongue plays across Molly's nipple and she moans, moving against the unyielding material of her Mistress' dress. Her teeth find Molly's nipples and she sucks, making Molly gasp. Her mistress lets out a giggle at the noise Molly makes which quickly turns into a throaty, entirely too sexy laugh. While she is sucking on one boob the other is in her hand, her fingers playing with the nipple. She switches and runs her teeth over Molly's other nipple. Molly is still moving against Irene's body, half in a daze, wanting her with every thread of consciousness she had in that moment. Her cunt throbbed, being all too ignored and desperate for contact, desperate for relief. She could feel the dark distant euphoria deep inside her, and she would do anything to feel that, she needed it and she needed it right now.

Her Mistress stops playing with her breasts and picks up the riding crop again with a mischievous grin. She cracks it lightly but sharply over each boob and then each thigh. She rests the end of it just below her tits and grins at Molly. Molly looks back, wondering what comes next, hoping it is her, hoping she would get what she wanted soon, if that's what her Mistress wanted. Her mistress runs the end of the riding crop down Molly's stomach, towards her vagina. She moves it down between Molly's legs and motions for her to move. Molly obediently spreads her legs. Irene lets the riding crop slide down over Molly's clit, making her moan again and lets the wetness of Molly spread onto the riding crop. She lets it clatter to the floor and in one quick motion moves so she is against Molly again, one hand cradling her neck. She arched Molly's back so her breasts were against hers. Her other hand between Molly's legs.

Her mistress slaps her hand lightly over Molly's vagina then her two fingers enter slowly inside her. She moves her fingers up to her clit and rubs it, letting her wetness lubricate it. Molly groans and her hips begin to rock with the motion of Irene's fingers. She feels white hot pleasure building up inside her and waves of it already beginning. Just as she fees the point of climax about to hit her Mistress moves her hand up to her breasts and gives each a hard slap. She moves each hand to cup the top of Molly's ass and gives two more sharp slaps. She leans in and uses her teeth to pull at Molly's earlobe, laughing in an almost affectionate way. Molly's breath cones in broken gasps and her whole body shakes. She resists the urge to pull her Mistress against her since she is still the good pet who could not handle being punished by not being allowed this. Her Mistress bit her neck and twisted her nipples again.

"Has my pet been good enough to deserve this?" Her Mistress mused, clearly enjoying her pet's strain. "Does my pet deserve her Mistress making her come? Is my pet wet, throbbing, begging her Mistress to let her have an orgasm?" Molly said nothing, but nodded vigorously but obediently. "My pet wants her Mistress so bad. It is in her Mistress' power to give her that. To make her scream. What is a Mistress to do?" She played with her nipples again, twisting hard. Then her hand moved down once again to Molly's cunt. She let 1 finger slip inside of Molly, and thrust up into her a few times. Then she added another finger and thrust again. She added a third finger and started thrusting, hard, into Molly. She moves Molly against her and continues, building speed as she thrusts, her thumb rubbing against Molly's clit only slightly. Molly's hips move with her Mistress' rhythm, she continues to gasp for air. Her Mistress thrusts harder, stimulating Molly's G Spot, as Molly can feel the white hot pleasure building up again, could feel the waves of pleasure starting to rock her. Suddenly her Mistress took one of Molly' nipples in her mouth and Molly cried out as her whole body explodes was wave after wave of pleasure hits her and everything goes dark except the pleasure, her muscles contracting around her Mistress' fingers inside her and she shuts her eyes tight as she moans and rocks against her Mistress' body. The last thing Molly vaguely remembers is crying out "Green!" before everything went black.


	3. Plans for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to learn how to take control. I want to be able to do what you did to -- to a man, if I so wanted. I want to be confident and I want to hold the power and I want to hit him with a riding crop!"
> 
> Molly and Irene finally make plans for Molly to learn what she wants: control.

"I don't always go that easy on my clients." Irene says with a kind but sly smile.

"That was going easy? I need to see you going hard next time...I mean..." Molly says, laughing at first but quickly turning red and stuttering. No longer the submissive one just following orders, back to stumbling shy Molly Hooper.

"Don't be ashamed of yourself girl," Irene answers with a bit of that familiar power in her voice. Molly places a mug of tea in front of Irene and curls up in the chair across from her.

"And I rarely stay for tea. I wouldn't have, if you didn't pass out straight away." Irene says sternly.

"I'm sorry" Molly stutters, blushing again. Irene's stern look disappears and she picks up the mug and takes a sip.

"Your delicious tea makes up for it, a little," Irene allows. Molly slides an envelope across the table, Irene takes it without a word and slides it into the canvas bag beside her chair. Molly can't help but admire how good Irene looks in Molly's own house robe, sexy in a way Molly never manages to pull off.

"That reminds me --" Molly begins.

"What reminds you?" Irene interrupts.

"Er...I only meant...I wanted to speak with you more about what I was hoping to learn from you...what I hope to learn from you...next time..." Molly begins.

Irene arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Molly blurts out her request all at once. "I wasn't sure how to ask it in an email, I wasn't sure of any of it really, I'm new to this, and I'm not very...I mean to say -- I want to learn how to take control. I want to be able to do what you did to -- to a man, if I so wanted. I want to be confident and I want to hold the power and I want to hit him with a riding crop!"

"Well, well, well" Irene says slowly, looking at Molly as if in a new light, an evil grin playing across her features, eyes narrowed.

Molly starts to backpedal "But I mean, I would completely understand if that's not the sort of thing you do, I just --"

"Silence." Irene says without raising her voice. Molly stops speaking at once. "So you're doing this for a man, are you?"

"I -- well, sort of -- I mean not really -- I mean I enjoyed it quite a lot but --"

"Yes, I know you did. But?"

"But I rather hoped that, well, that I would be on the other end of it really, that I could be the one in control. I'm not doing it for a man, not exactly at least, but I did hope that learning this would help in all aspects of my life, especially my love life, so to speak."

Irene throws her head back and laughs. Molly stares at her, slightly confused. Irene reaches down into her canvas bag and pulls out her Schedule Book and pen. 

"How's Saturday at half three?" Irene asks Molly, putting the point of her pen to the page and looking over the book at Molly.

"I -- er -- well yes, that'd be fine." Molly answers. Irene marks it on the page with a flourish, closes the envelope of money into the book and places in a side pocket of her bag. Without warning she shrugs off Molly's bathrobe and stands completely naked in the middle of Molly's kitchen. She takes another sip of the tea then pulls a new dress out of her canvas bag along with panties and a bra. 

"As you have probably guessed I am usually the dominant role with all of my clients, but I pride myself on knowing what they like. I like you, and now I know what you like. As such, it would only be professional to give it to you. I'm not sure if I can teach you to be in control Molly Hooper, at least not without some help, but I know just the man to help you if he's willing. I will get in touch with him and we will both see you at your flat at half three on Saturday." Irene finishes dressing in a pink and white dress of a light airy fabric altogether different from her earlier attire and yet just as sexy and sits back on the chair to zip up knee length black leather boots. She stands up, and Molly stands too, to walk her to the door. She holds the door open and Irene Adler walks into the hallway, hair and makeup still perfectly in place, ass still swishing when she walks. Irene turns to Molly and says, "one more thing before I go, something of a homework assignment. You are to go to the sex shop down the road and get new lingerie. Black, and nothing too flashy. A nice bra that lifts those perky breasts of yours and a thong that shows off that great ass." And with that Irene turns and walks away. Molly checks down the hall, hoping that none of the neighbors heard a woman say she has a great ass, and closes the door.


	4. 3 in the Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is in for a surprise and a challenge.
> 
> Irene hopes to help Molly take more control using a friend of hers...
> 
> Plus a not entirely welcome addtion.

Molly sits on the couch, legs crossed, top foot wiggling up and down in impatience. It is half three on Saturday and Molly is already wearing the black lingerie Irene ordered her to buy, no robe, not like last time. Molly is in a bit of a huff and not thinking properly and therefore not over thinking or self conscious. She is eager to start learning to be more in control, more confident, but Irene Adler is late. She glances at the clock on the wall and then back at the door several times, checks her nails, stands up to check her hair and makeup in the mirror above the sofa, and sits back down to repeat the process. 

Just when Molly stands, thinking she'll brew some tea, she hears voices in the corridor, and then a loud knock on the door. She pauses, observing that the knock was quick and quiet, lazy almost, but firm. Then another knock, this time one she recognizes as being Irene's. Most likely. As far as one can analyze knocks at the door. With a little shake of the head not unlike the previous and only other occasion a Dominatrix chanced to knock upon her door (as far as she knew, anyway), Molly walked across her living room, perhaps trying to put a little swish into her stride, and opened the door. The first thing that registered in her head was that there were three people at the door, that she was mistaken, and that she had just answered the door to the phone company wearing a thong and push up bra. But then she recognized Irene and with a little laugh that was probably completely dorky she moved aside to let them in. And then it registered again in her mind that there were three people at the door, and not the previously agreed upon two.

The first man, tall, dark, handsome but with a sinister air, dressed all in black with a black tuque pulled low over his face, pushed into the room and walked immediately to her living room window. Flicking back the blinds, he peered out for moment, nodded to himself, and moved through to the kitchen. Confused, Molly turned back to Irene, hoping for answers.

The second man was altogether a deal smaller and less sinister than the other man. In fact, they were practically opposites. He had a huge grin pasted on his face (though it did seem a rather sinister grin) and he was dressed in a crisp light grey suit where the other man wore sweats and a large black hoody. This man giggled, bowing and putting his arm out to Irene.

"Seb, how rude of you!" he drawled, "ladies first, Madam Adler. If we can be so bold as to call you a lady." He giggled again. 

Molly's attention was finally drawn to Irene, who looked positively harried. She was wearing tight dark wash jeans and a skin tight shirt which dipped low between her breasts. Her hair was pulled back, though looser than before, but her make up looked much the same, though the lipstick was a dark shade of red like her shirt.

"I told them only one could come. I only wanted him!" she pointed at the smaller man.

"Yes but the Madam has no control over us." The smaller man retorted pleasantly. He bowed low to Molly as he stepped into her flat, the grin still wide across his face. "James Moriarty at your service. We've been told you need fixing."

Molly couldn't help but acknowledge that James Moriarty was quite handsome, though the grin she suspected was often on his face distorted his features somewhat and made her slightly uncomfortable. She felt as if something were off with James Moriarty, and everything he had done so far was as a jest.

"I -- er-- Hi." Molly answered, offering her hand to him which he took and planted an unpleasantly wet kiss near the tips of her fingers.

"Enchante!" He said with another giggle. She pulled her hand back all too quickly to be polite. 

Just then the other man stalked back into the room. "All clear." He nodded to Moriarty. "Where can I put my things?" He asked, again, looking to Moriarty, who turned to Molly.

"Oh, er, just there is fine." Molly said to Moriarty, who turned to the taller man and directed him to the space Molly had just pointed out, which was the floor by his feet. The tall man placed a long black bag gingerly on the floor.

"Honestly, Seb, it's like you were raised by, I don't know, tigers or something! Introduce yourself to the lady."

Seb stepped forward and nodded at Molly. "Colonel Sebastian Moran." He said quickly and swiftly stepped back to the place he was before, and stood straight and unmoving, facing the direction of Moriarty. Molly realized that what she had first thought were sweats were actually black army fatigues.

"Seb was just, casing the joint, as they say," Moriarty explained. "For my safety and yours, but mostly for his own sanity."

Molly had been standing, observing her guests with her mouth gaping open, entirely unsure of what to make of them. At this point she smiled in a way she hoped was polite and not puzzled and turned again to Irene, who was, again, looking harried.

"We're all introduced then are we? Got all the niceties out of the way? Let's get down to business. Molly, you want to learn how to take control. Well, here's your solution."

"I didn't mean -- I mean I don't think -- how?" Molly stuttered. Irene had motioned towards James Moriarty who stood with his hands clasped together looking straight up at the ceiling and whistling to himself.

Irene pulled a pair of leather pants out of her handbag and shoved them into Moriarty's arms. He took them without looking down from the ceiling.

"Dress yourself in only these. Now." Irene told him, giving him a sharp slap to the face. At the noise of the slap Moran looked over and took a step towards Moriarty.

"On the sofa please, Seb." Moriarty said cheerily despite the fact that he was stripping down to his pants in Molly Hooper's living room. To Molly's surprise, Seb did as he was told, though not without a glare and a grumble.

"Ah ah ah Seb, we talked about this, didn't we?" Molly looked back at James Moriarty then away again quickly. He was now wearing nothing at all and looking rather fantastic in it. She looked back at Moran who was now glaring insolently from the sofa but had not said a word in protest. Molly wondered if James Moriarty would be teaching her control through Seb...but then why was he stripped down to his pants? This situation was already more alarming and uncomfortable than just hiring Irene. She didn't feel quite right. Molly crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly aware of her lack of clothing. She looked around for her robe absent-mindedly, biting her lip, wondering if she should ask them to go.

"I--er--That is to say, I'm not comfortable with this, I didn't really sign up to shag a bloke and I don't know what--"

"Nonsense girl," Irene snapped from the chair by the window. Her look of disdain seemed to have lifted along with Moriarty's clothing. She reached into her own rather large hand bag and pulled out a riding crop. Molly tried to hide the flush of pleasure at the memory of her last experience with a riding crop. "Take this, Molly dear," Irene said, with a look that said she didn't miss the colour in Molly's face or what it meant. "It's your turn to have a little fun with props, love. And trust me, Jim is just the thing to start with." Molly took the riding crop from Irene but then recrossed arms, the riding crop hanging at her side. Irene sat back on the sofa and crossed her leg, resting her chin on her arm, a devious smile once again on her face. Molly stared at Irene's perfect lips, imagining that shade of red on her own lips, the mark they would leave on her body if Irene made a trail of kisses from her neck down to her...but then the reality of the situation sunk in and her breathing caught. With a start her breath whooshed out of her chest as she realized what they were about to do.

It wasn't that Molly didn't like men, she'd dated them before. Prior to Irene she hadn't given much thought to women but was considering exploring that world more once she accepted that she had enjoyed herself more with Irene than she had in any of her short lived, highly unsatisfying relationships. But she couldn't deny that she was attracted to men. But still, Moriarty wasn't really her type. He was attractive in general, he had a nice body which Molly had already gotten a pretty good look at, the muscle lines tracing a trail from his stomach to his...the shadow of abs across his slightly softened stomach, like somebody who was once in great shape who hadn't had time to keep active lately. His cock, hanging between his legs, already a little bit swollen, perhaps at the prospect of the excitement of the afternoon, just asking to be stroked...So maybe she was attracted to Moriarty, but it was a whole other story to actually have sex with a man she didn't even know, and, what, to hit him with a riding crop? Molly's pulse began to speed up, most definitely out of nervousness and not out of excitement at the prospect of hitting this man with a riding crop. She didn't think she was capable of being the powerful woman that Irene is, or of actually hitting another person. It felt good on the receiving end, but could she really reciprocate? Molly inwardly bristled at the negativity and self doubt. _Isn't this what you called Irene for!_ She said to herself. _Isn't this what you want!?_ She asked herself. Her pulse jumped at that thought. _Yes. Yes, that is what I want._ She thought of Sherlock delivering blow after blow to the corpse and felt a flood of heat travel down her navel. She imagined herself bent over in front of Sherlock, the fierce look in his eyes, the lust as he brought the end of the crop onto her tight bare ass. Better yet, they switched positions in her mind, Sherlock was begging her to hit him harder, to make him pay. She could see his hard cock jutting out, dripping with pre-come. _Oh Molly_ , he was saying, _make it hurt, I want you Molly --_

Her thought was interrupted by Jim Moriarty throwing himself to the carpet in front of her. 


	5. To Be or not to Be Dominant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly learns the easy way how to take control.

Molly holds the crop in hand and stands over Jim, who is now dressed in only the leather pants and has just fallen to her feet, worked his way up her legs, tightly gripping her thighs for just a second, now scrabbling at the frills (she couldn't help keeping just a bit) at the top of her panties.  
Her eyes grow wide and uncertain, and she can hear Irene laughing quietly at either her steadily reddening face, or Jim's performance, or both.  
 _Move, Molly Hooper. You have to do something._  
She takes an uncertain step backwards and Jim falls forward, elbows, arms, and face against her plush, spotless off-white carpet, his backside in the air, the leather pants pulled tight against his skin.

Irene throws something heavily at Molly's feet just in front of Jim's outstretched arms while Jim continues to beg incoherently, almost feverish murmuring.  
"Another prop to help get things started?" Irene suggests lazily, her arm folded at the elbow, index finger resting against her blood red lips. Enjoying Molly's inaction a bit too much, Molly thinks with a flash of indignation.  
Molly starts and looks away (she certainly wasn't staring at Jim's bum, no indeed) to the floor at her feet. A studded leather choker collar with a cold metal chain of about 3 feet rests against one of her big toes. She nudges it idly but instead of feeling the growing discomfort she eyes it with interest. She imagines the black collar against Jim's sunbed tanned skin, the links of the leash cold against his chest, a nice complement to the leather pants. She feels the heat rush from her face back down to her navel.  
"Mistress?" Jim questions, louder than his murmuring. He lifts his head from the carpet, clearly attentive of her shifting mood.

Molly breathes heavily, wipes her mind of all of the worry and indecision, then steps purposefully back towards Moriarty.

  
"Yes pet," she purrs, "Help Mistress Molly put your collar on."

Eyes sparkling in anticipation, Moriarty crawls forward on his knees and throws back his head to expose his throat obediently. He passes Molly the collar with dainty, slightly shaking hands.

She takes the weight in her hands, taking a moment to caress the studs, let's the metal cool her hot skin. She undoes the belt and fastens it around Moriarty's neck, pulling it tight against his Adam's apple. As she feels him swallow against it she secures it in place and steps back to admire the leather and metal against his skin. _Now what?_. She notices between Moriarty's thighs, the bulge in the leather straining against the fabric. He licks his lips and looks up at her expectantly, and she sees the feverish quality she thought she heard in his voice. Unbidden, the image of her bent over with the riding crop in hand comes to mind. She slides the heel of the crop under the collar and pushes Moriarty's head back so he is looking at the ceiling instead of into her eyes. She lets the crop drift down his chest, leans forward slightly as it brushes across each nipple. Moriarty doesn't even sway, he continues to stare at the ceiling, still as stone but for the heaving of his chest. She traces his pelvic muscles before finally reaching the leather. She hooks the shaft of the crop under the slight elastic band at his hip and pulls it away from his body to reveal the skin beneath. He shifts his weight slightly in anticipation of the band snapping back into place. She pulls back harder and lets it go, the sound not as satisfying as she would have liked.

"Do not move." She instructs, turning his cheek with the crop. "Don't move unless Mistress tells you to move."

"Yes Mistress," he says through his teeth, and she notices the wispy, girlish tone to his voice she had picked up on before. She moves the crop down again to the leather, runs it along the shape of his cock in his pants, down to his testicles. She lets the leather tongue of the crop cup his balls and lifts slightly. His breath hitches. She reduces the pressure, then lifts upwards again, the edge of the rod pushing into his balls. She applies more pressure, willing him to move away from the pain, to disobey. To need to be punished. He doesn't move. What a good pet.

Molly leans forward, her breasts spilling over the tops of her bra. She uses the riding crop on the back of Moriarty's head so that he is now looking directly into her cleavage and puts her lips to his hear. Vaguely she thinks of Moran sitting silently on the settee and wonders if Moriarty has any interest in breasts or in Molly at all.

"Has my pet misbehaved?" She asks, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear, willing him to shiver. "Is my pet ogling his Mistress without permission?" She feels Moriarty let out a big breath of air, feels it tickle the tops of her breasts. She takes his ear lobe in her teeth, licks the tip of his ear and blows. Still he doesn't move, just lets out a girlish giggle. Perhaps not interested in women? Unless...

"Pet, unhook my bra." Molly stays positioned over him and he remains still for a second before she feels his hand brush her hip as he attempts to raise his arms to her back without disturbing their positions. She feels deft fingers grip each side of her bra in a motion that they have clearly done before. Her bra springs free and she moves back slightly to let it slide down her right arm and drop onto the floor. Now her exposed breasts are in front of his face, her larger left boob just slightly touching the tip of his nose. Any pretense she had that she was not excited is now dashed by her hard, pointed nipples. Her head is still pulled back enough to see Moriarty's eyes flick for just a second to take in the sight inches from his face.

"Perhaps my pet would like to misbehave now?" Molly teases, meeting Moriarty's eyes. She sees that they are slightly glazed with lust. He holds her gaze for just a moment before making a move. First his hands move once again up her legs, he grips each of her thighs in his hands, applies pressure, lets his thumbs rub a small circle just near the insides of her thighs. Then he moves up to her ass, grabbing quickly, cupping her bare cheeks and pushing up like she did to his balls, then moving to her hips, another slight squeeze. When his hands reach her tits, he lets them push her boobs together, as a push up bra might make them pop out of a low cut shirt, before his thumbs brush lightly over her nipples. He holds them there for a moment, and then as he leans his head forward, she realizes she's letting his well-placed hand motions take control of her.

In one swift movement she uses the riding crop to shove his body away from her while taking the chain of the choker in her other hand. As he falls back to the limit of the chain she yanks him back towards her before the chain can go taut. She lets go of the chain and steps swiftly aside as he loses his balance and falls to his hands. She uses the heel of her foot to push him into the carpet, then circles around him, weighing the crop against her hand.

"Now my pet has really misbehaved, and he must be punished." She tells him, while he makes no motion to lift himself, but instead pushes his face into the carpet in despair.

"Yes Mistress, Mistress must punish me. Mistress must hurt me, Mistress must --" Molly punctures his words his a sharp slap to the back of his head, forcing his face into the fabric of carpet.

"Do not tell me what to do." She instructs, delivering a slap to the back of thighs between each word. She moves the chain links under her toes as he lays there moaning into the carpet. His skin turns pink where the crop made contact and she admires the colour for a second, suddenly desperate to see darker red on his chest, on his ass, everywhere.

"On your hands and knees. Now!" She practically shouts. Without speaking Moriarty quickly raises himself to his hands and knees and she slaps him harder than before on his leather-clad ass. It makes a satisfying cracking noise as it makes contact with the leather, a deep, muffled sound that she could feel reverberating up the shaft of the crop. No redness though.

"On your knees. Quickly." She demands, impatiently brushing hair out of her flushed face. His hungry gaze meets hers as he goes to his knees and links his hands behind his back to prevent himself from reacting. For a second her vision goes foggy and she imagines Sherlock kneeling in front her, a lock of curls falling over his gleaning face, his bare chest turning red with welts as she delivers blow after blow, his hand desperately stroking his cock, begging for release, harder, faster. She delivers a firm slap to each side of Moriarty's chest, just above his nipples. Moriarty grunts with the impact, licks his lips, pushes his hips out so his cock strains against leather, throws his chest out to absorb the strikes.

"Yes, Mistress, punish me," he groans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, breathing hard. She lets the crop slap sharply against his nipples, wanting them between her teeth, to taste the salt of his sweat and let her lips make red marks against his skin. She imagines the sharp contrast this would make with Sherlock's pale white skin. She steps slightly to the slide and hits the side of Moriarty's hip, against the bone. He gasps and wiggles, juts his groin out further. She hooks the band of the pants with the crop again but this time yanks them down so the head of his cock is visible. He moans and edges forward on his knees. She steps away from him and slaps him square in the middle of the chest, almost knocking him off balance.

"Tell me you want it harder, tell me you want it to hurt, Sherlock!" She shouts, pushing the riding crop against his throat. Moriarty's eyes snap open and he whips his head forward to stare at her. Molly hears Irene rustle to the left of her.

"What did you just call me?" Moriarty asks, his subordinate, quiet tone discarded. He stares at Molly for a few seconds, who stands frozen in place, eyes wide as she considers not only her mistake but the recognition she thought she saw in Moriarty's eyes at the sound of _that_ name. Jim swivels his head to Irene. "Did she just call me Sherlock?" he demands in astonishment. Irene leans back again and shrugs dismissively, crossing her arms. She makes eye contact with Molly and nods, eyebrows raising. Molly blinks then recovers herself.

"Shut up."

She uses her entire weight to shove Moriarty backwards with both hands, so hard he stumbles backwards and flies into the small table between two chairs, the one on the left of which is occupied by Irene. The table rocks against the wall and a porcelain lamp on a doily wobbles but somehow doesn't fall. He lands on his back, his head smashing into the wooden leg of the side table. Molly walks quickly forward and takes the leash in her hand, yanking him by his neck up to lean on his heels. She pulls the leash harder so he is half raised but not far enough to get on his knees or to his feet. She feels his weight leaning against the chain, his throat working against the collar, his breathing shallow.

"Mistress did not call you anything but pet, do you understand?"

"Yes Mistress." He murmurs quietly, looking away from her.

"What did you say?" She asks, dragging him back into the middle of the room so he has to use one hand on the floor to steady himself.

"Yes Mistress." He says, louder this time. Maybe it's in her head, but Molly is convinced she hears petulance colouring his tone.

"Mistress," She begins, forcing his face up by his chin with the crop to meet her eyes. "Calls you pet and only pet. You deserve no other name. I asked you, do you understand? I will not have you disobeying me. You will be punished." At those words a small smile forms on Moriarty's face, a challenge in his eyes. Challenge accepted.

Molly uses to crop to hit him, no longer discriminating about where on his body the crop makes contact. She even hits his cheek, forcing his face sideways, as he looks away again. She slaps the side of his torso and he moves sideways away from the pain, she hits him on the other side and he moves the other way. She hits his stomach, his chest, shoulder, his hip. He looks to her face again and she hits him a second time in the face, snapping his head away from her. He lifts his hands to protect his face and she hits those too. He throws himself forward to better protect his head and she begins to assault his back. He starts to chant, the insolence gone from his tone, begging again.

"Please Mistress, I'm sorry Mistress, I have been bad, please forgive your Pet. Please mistress, sorry mistress" over and over, as relentless as the riding crop. She pulls the chain taut again but he doesn't move his head.

"You have been very bad" She tells him, hitting him lightly on the back of his head. She shifts the riding crop to the same hand holding the leash and uses her free hand to slap his ass lightly, testing the feel of skin slapping leather. She uses her hand to pull the pants down over his thighs and without thinking stands back, ready with the riding crop back in her good hand.

"Very, very bad." She says. In quick succession she delivers blow after blow to his bare ass, watching the skin go from pink to red, and then deeper and deeper red. Moriarty continues to groan, his body moving forward with each blow, an involuntary noise coming from his mouth. As she throws her arm back to deliver a particularly hard blow, a noise unlike the rhythmic slapping of leather on skin pierces the silence of her living room.

"Red!" A voice shouts, shocking Molly back to reality. She stares down at Moriarty, who was cowering on the floor, hands covering his face, but he looks as confused as she is. The three people in the room turn to look at Moran, who is on his feet, breathing hard. "We're done here." He says, out of breath.


	6. Need a Lift?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagining Fassy!Moran in this scenario made it too fun not to elaborate.

The silence is broken by Jim sniffing and rubbing a smear of blood from the side of his lip with his thumb. His eyes dark and cruel yet unreadable, he narrows them and smiles at Molly, shaking his head. The red flush of his face, smeared with blood, and dark auburn hair usually kept just so fanning wildly around his sharp features makes his dark eyes bloom, a red tint in them not usually noticeable. He stares off at the ceiling and laughs quietly to himself, something childlike in his posture and the curve of his mouth. He swivels his head, attention turning back to Molly.

"Not bad," he says, looking her up and down, his eyes making the same stops his hands did earlier. "Still, leaves me lacking a little--something." He takes his cock in his hand for a second, still leering at her, before he strips the pants off entirely. "My clothing, Seb."

Sebastian, who had been glaring at the pair of them, immediately hurried to get the bag of Jim's things and starts handing him items of clothing. Molly feels a hand on her shoulder as Irene hands her her bra.

"Don't listen to him, if you chose not to engage in genital contact it's hardly _his_ place to argue. How uncivilized, disgusting really." She sniffs distastefully at Jim's back but with a hint of fondness? Maybe Molly misread their relationship. Irene hands her a robe and Molly quickly pulls it about herself, hugging her chest and pulling the material close around her. Suddenly feeling naked.

Jim is already clad in briefs and a dress shirt, and while Seb ties his tie he bats playfully at Seb's stomach. Moran doesn't move to block or dodge Jim's closed fist, but rather acts as if Jim is not hitting him at all. He jerks automatically, though, when Moriarty's hands creep lower and Jim leans in close, hands cupping Moran through his fatigues. Molly thought she saw him go a bit red around the ears before he straightens up and studiously ignores Moriarty literally getting a rise out of him.

Molly hurries into the kitchen to put on the kettle, tying her hair in a bun as she goes. When she returns Moriarty is perched on the settee, jiggling his feet in a childlike fashion as Seb tries to tie the small laces on his dress shoes. Finally he stands up and brushes his crisp suit into place.

"Well," he says, looking up at them both and grinning wildly. "It's been a slice, hasn't it Irene? I do hope we've accomplished what we came here for."

"We certainly did," Irene replies, considering Molly as she zips her bag closed and clicks her heels to the hardwood near the door. Sebastian is already waiting with the door open, checking the hallway for persons. He holds the door wide as Jim ducks under his arm, though he hardly had to duck. Sebastian steps through the door but holds it open for Irene to follow. Irene clicks her heels into the hallway and turns her body to wave ostentatiously with the arm holding her bag. Admiring the angle of Irene's retreating figure, Molly takes a step towards the door as it Irene releases her hand and it slowly clicks into place. She stares at the closed door, beyond which she can hear Jim giggling and a crash as he probably pushes Seb into the hallway table that sits across from the lifts. Adrenaline from the afternoon still pulsing through her, Molly makes a snap decision and pulls open the door, breaking into a slight jog as her bare feed pad down the corridor.

Irene is standing in the far side of the lift, one hand to her cheek as she vaguely ponders the buttons in front of her to avoid looking at her companions. Moran and Moriarty are kissing loudly, Sebastian pushing desperately against Moriarty who is leaning against the mirror, Moriarty's hands planted firmly on Moran's ass. He flexes his forearms, pulling Moran closer to him and Moran braces his hands on either side of him with a groan.

As the door starts to slide shut Molly stops it with her hand, making a rather louder slapping noise than she had intended. "You're staying." She says directly to Irene, a hint of the dominance she had learned still lingering in her voice. "Er, that is, if you'd like a cuppa before you go..." she trails off, not sure what her intention was. Aware of the clumsy wording of her...request?

Irene shrugs but her eyes are amused. "Why not, I'd rather not take the lift down with those two, I'm sure the ride down will involve a blow job I don't care to witness." She rolls her eyes in mock disgust, not caring to disguise the flush of excitement in them. Irene steps smoothly out of the elevator and hands Molly her bag, leading the way back down the hallway. "I do hope the kettle has boiled."

Molly watches as, with complete disregard for the public setting, Moriarty forces Sebastian's head down to his hips, pulling harshly at Sebastian's close-cropped ginger hair. Obediently, Moran drops to his knees and with slightly hurried motions pulls at Moriarty's trousers. Moriarty luxuriously grabs the metal railings on each side of the corner of the lift and leans his head back lazily against the mirrors. "Something, something, something" he drawls, his voice catching on the last word as Sebastian's mouth finds the tip of his cock. 

The lift door slides shut and Molly turns to see Irene leaning out of her front door, smiling knowingly.

"Enjoy the show?" she asked coyly.

"Are they, I mean to say, is Moriarty--are they together?"

"I don't know, rather boring question to ask, don't you think?"


	7. Soft Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like somebody is getting rather attached...

"You and Moriarty seem--close?" Molly asks, lifting her voice somewhat at the end and making it seem like a question. "I mean, you seem rather fond." Is that too obvious?

They are now standing in the entryway of Molly's apartment. Molly sets Irene's bag on the floor beside her and moves towards Irene. Irene takes one of her heels off and let's it fall to the floor with a loud clack.

"Moriarty is all hard lines and cruel intentions. Like me." Irene says, taking her other shoe off and letting it fall to the floor next to it's partner. "We understand each other for that reason. But that's not what I like."

Molly drops her hands to her side and cocks her head in Irene's direction, suddenly emboldened by the gaping, empty space of a Saturday afternoon and a flat full of herself and Irene. "So what _do_ you like?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

"What I like," Irene advances towards Molly, backing her up until she is leaning against her door, the cold hard wood flush against her calves. "Is soft curves," she runs the back of her hand across Molly's cheek. "And tender flesh." She parts Molly's robe and lets a fingernail run across the plumpness of Molly's hips. In a tender motion she lets both palms lie flat against Molly's hips and then applies a gentle pressure. Her surprisingly soft hands move up Molly's waist, skimming over the sides of her breasts and squeezing her shoulders lightly, before pushing the robe down Molly's arms and letting it fall to the floor. The motion is familiar but the circumstance feels very different. Once again, Molly feels heat flood her body. She breathes in heavily, her breasts brushing against Irene as she does. Irene presses closer so that Molly can feel the cold, rough material of her jeans against her thighs and her breasts, spilling out of the top of her top, reach just below her neck, pink nipples visible just at the edge of her shirt. Her eyes linger before lifting back to Irene's bright eyes.

"Moriarty is cold. Like me." Irene says, running a hand along Molly's collar bone. "What I like," She slides her arms around Molly, pressing her lips to her ear and hugging her to her while she unclasps her bra. "Is heat." She slides her hands back down to Molly's hips, feeling the curve of her thighs, inching back towards her bum but then letting her fingernail slide along flesh instead of grabbing skin. She slides her fingers under the waistband and Molly spreads her legs to let her panties fall to the floor. Irene presses a hand to her belly and her lips against Molly's. Molly closes her eyes and starts to feel lost in the motions. In an unsettling, fleeting moment, Moriarty's wicked leer flashes across her eyelids. Molly might be warm, but she is also white hot, she thinks to herself.

Molly turns so that Irene is the one against the wall and let's her hand rest in the curve of Irene's back. She sees a challenge in Irene's eyes but has no idea where to start. She decides on her hair, unclipping it gently so that her hair cascades around her face. It makes her look much younger, innocent almost. Irene's smile falters in an almost bashful way but then she bites her lip playfully and asks with her eyes, what's next?

"We need to get you out of these jeans." Molly tells her, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the bedroom. "And I need that lipstick all over my body." Molly perches on the edge of her bed and waits expectantly as Irene slowly undoes the button on her jeans and slides them slowly down over her hips. She leaves them that way, half down, held up but the curve of legs, and slides her hands up her body to unclasp her own bra. In one motion she pulls her shirt and bra up over head, her breasts, perky and round, sway slightly with the motion. Irene cups one breast in her hand and stands staring at Molly, dark red lace panties visible just above her jeans. Molly shivers.

Irene runs her hands down her own hips, bringing her panties down her hips to meet her jeans. She pulls both down and steps lithely out of her jeans. She lightly places all of her clothing on a small stool near the wardrobe and stands naked in the center of Molly's room, completely unabashed. Molly quickly dismisses the thought that she has a lot more to learn as she beckons Irene to join her on the bed. She lays back against the pillow and turns sideways to face Irene. She can't help but notice that she is a few sizes larger than Irene's petite frame, as her round hips rise to meet her waist where Irene is narrow hips and a large ass.

Catlike, Irene crawls across the bed and lays directly across from Molly, maintaining eye contacted. She caresses Molly's hip and again lets her hand slide across Molly's belly. She leans in and kisses the tip of Molly's breast. She pulls Molly closer to her so that their bodies are touching and lets her hand rest on Molly's hip. "What I like," she began, as Molly let her hand feel Irene's sharp cheekbone, caress her neck, a finger slipping into Irene's mouth. "Is feeling the heat of your amazing body against me. Of taking your curves in my hand. Of hearing you moan." At the last statement she lets her hand slide down between Molly's legs. Molly parts her legs and Irene slides one and then two fingers inside of her. Molly feels the wetness swell and she shifts her body invitingly towards Irene. Irene moves her fingers in and out twice and then slides her hand out and licks the wetness from her fingers. She pulls Molly to her and kisses her soft and deep, their tongues moving against each other. Irene takes Molly's hand and moves it between her own legs. Molly's heart races when Irene moans in the back of her throat and edges her body closer. Her fingers move back down to Molly and they move against each other, their moans building as their movements build speed.

As Molly feels the very edge of white hot spasms of pleasure she can feel Irene's body tensing as well. It occurs to her vaguely that it was a measure of the softness and sheer difference of their touches that completely erased the echo of the early afternoon. She moans Irene's name in her climax and with her free hand gently thumbs her nipple as Irene's teeth brush her neck and she feels the spasm of orgasm with her fingers still inside Irene. Irene sighs contentedly before she rolls onto her back, one leg bent at the knee and smiling absently at the ceiling. This habit, so similar to that of Moriarty, sends an echo of earlier across Molly's mind. In the post-coital languor that flushes her body and still has her breathing heavy, she daydreams of sex with Irene that might not be so soft, of all the parts of Irene she wants her lipstick to cover.


End file.
